


Lost lambs

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Family Feels, Father Holmes is under-appreciated, Gen, Guilt, Molly is Kind, Parents As People, Regret, Series 4 Spoilers, Spoilers, spoilers for The Lying Detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9454820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: Molly has a visitor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So series 4 only fueled my fascination with Holmes family dynamics. Like a lot of fans, I think, Mummy's harsh words seemed pretty cruel, but I couldn't help but wonder what Papa Holmes might have to say. I like to think he isn't actually a moron, just someone who never expected to spawn super-geniuses and just didn't know what to do.

The doorbell had the misfortune to ring just as Rosie started crying again.

“Just coming!” Molly called, but she was so preoccupied with the squalling baby it was well over two minutes until finally she remembered the door and edged it open. 

“Hello?” There was an elderly man at the door, who showed no sign of impatience at having been kept waiting. “Can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, madam. Is Doctor Watson home?”

“No, he has an appointment elsewhere.” John had a new therapist, who seemed to be marginally more effective than the last one, which was where he was now, but she decided to leave that part out. John could get very touchy about his private life and discussing his medical arrangements with a stranger felt wrong.

She knew she had never met this man, yet there was something strangely familiar about him. More specifically, his bone structure. 

“Oh, that is bad luck. I had hoped to call on him, while I was in town, to offer my condolences for his wife’s passing. Doctor Watson and his wife did spend a Christmas at our home.  A card seemed... inadequate.”

“Maybe if you come in for a cup of tea? He should be back in an hour, but if you’re happy to wait...”

“A cup of tea would be lovely.” 

Molly beckoned him over the threshold. “I don’t believe we’ve met...what’s your name?”

“Holmes.” Molly was so surprised she nearly dropped Rosie. 

“You’re related to Sherlock?”

“He’s my son.”

Of course. It made sense now. _He dresses like John,_ popped into Molly’s head, but she quickly dismissed it.

“I’m Molly. Sherlock’s my... my friend.”

“And this must be the new arrival.” He peered down at Rosie’s face. “Hello, little lady.” Her tiny hand reached out, wafting vaguely; and he offered a finger. She clamped her fist around it, as if they were shaking hands. He smiled. He had a gentle face, worn but serene. Something about him drew Molly in, made her trust him. He had a quiet presence, an honest but subtle dignity. He reminded her of her own father, a little. It warmed her heart. It had been a long time since she had been a daughter. 

“I always wanted a daughter... until I had one.” His eyes seemed to lose focus, as if he were transported back to the past and had forgotten about her presence in the present, about Rosie’s hand still clinging on to his finger. 

“You had a daughter?”

“Don’t tell the boys I told you that, do please. Mycroft would be very cross with me.”

“No, no I won’t. You can trust me to be discreet. What you say to me you say only to me, until you give permission otherwise.”

“I thought so. You have a kind face.” Molly’s heart, already bruised, cracked a little further. 

“We don’t ever talk about her, you see. Sometimes I wish that we could, but it seems the only way we can all move on. Either we don’t talk about her, or once we start we can’t stop. It used to particularly upset Sherlock, poor child. He could never bear her memory. For him, I never bring her up, no matter how much I might think of her. Don’t mention her, I beg you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The less tactful side of Molly’s curiosity was rising, but she shut it up. To pry into such a delicate, personal matter would be so cruel. He must confide in her only what he chose to. She would not ask for more. 

Mr Holmes turned aside, causing Rosie to drop his finger.

“I’ll...um...I’ll see to that tea, then.” She put Rosie down to free her hands for the kettle and cups. “How do you like it?”

“Not too strong, please. But with lots of milk. No sugar.” He sighed, then seemed to reconsider. “Actually... maybe some sugar. Just a grain or two.”

She poured it slowly, allowing him to gauge just how much of both he wanted. He sighed again, more contentedly this time, as he cradled the mug in both hands and sat down at the kitchen table. Molly made herself a cup with more haste and joined him. 

“Have you talked to Sherlock recently?” Mr Holmes’ voice was hesitant and though Molly barely knew him, it would not take a consulting detective to spot the aching hope camouflaged by casualness in his voice. “Is he... is he alright?”

“I...I’m not sure. He knows I’m there, if he needs me, but... he hasn’t called. I suppose... he doesn’t want to see me, then. I do want to help him, if I can. I’d go to Baker Street myself but I think that would only irritate him.”

“It probably would,” Mr Holmes agreed.  “I’d go to Baker Street too, only I’d- well, I’d only get in the way. I want to help him, too. Always have.”

“Of course. He’ll always be your son.” 

Mr Holmes nodded. 

“You never stop being a dad, really.” She continued. “My dad told me that. He... he wasn’t very well for years and it.. it used to make me... sad, because I wouldn’t have a dad anymore. I didn’t tell him about it until almost the end. But he said he’d always be my dad, even when... even after he’d, he’d gone. He promised not to forget me.”

“You were close to your father?”

“Yes.” Surprised at how personal she’d just been, she covered her sheepishness at oversharing with a drink of her tea.

“I wish I’d told my children that.” With each sentence he spoke, Mr Holmes’ voice was getting quieter. “So many things I should have told them. But it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late, Sherlock and Mycroft-”

“-never come to their mother and I for help. It wasn’t until Sherlock overdosed that I even learned he took drugs. Doctors in the hospital knew before I did. Strangers. He fakes his death, he gets shot, he nearly dies... and what did I do? Nothing." Tears were silently sliding down his face. “What kind of father doesn’t keep his children safe?

Molly grabbed the tissue box. “You didn’t do that badly, I’m sure.” 

“I lie awake all night, wondering what I did wrong.” He accepted the tissues. Dabbing at his eyes only made the tears run faster. “But I just never knew what they _needed_. Did I indulge them too much? Was I too strict? I don’t know. They’ve never told me.”

“Maybe if you asked...”

“I’m not sure they’d give me a straight answer. I was never good at telling when they were being deceitful. Even when I found out, I couldn’t punish them. Their mother’s disapproval worked, but only so far. On both of them. Oh, Mycroft likes to think himself the dutiful son, but he can be as willful as Sherlock when he wants to be.”

“But if you did your best...”

“I’m starting to wonder if my best was good enough.” He buried his head in his hands. “I didn’t ask for them to be geniuses. I wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t clever. All I ever wanted was for them to be safe; and healthy and, and _happy_. But they’re not, are they? They’re anything but happy. My little girl died all alone. Sherlock is heartbroken and Mycroft is an emotional _wasteland_.” 

At last, Molly found her tongue. “I never knew your daughter, sadly, but... Sherlock and Mycroft are good, kind people, both of them. Not all of the time and certainly not to everyone, but...deep down, where it matters most- and _when_ it matters most, they do the right thing. I trust them with my life. With... with _more_ than my life. Both of them.” 

“I tried to make them worthy of that trust, but they’re... so..”

“It could have been so much worse,” she blurted. “If they were evil people. They could do so much damage. They would be so dangerous. But they’re not. The world is safer because they’re good people. Mostly. And that’s.. that could well be because of you.”

“Thank you,” Father Holmes. “I will try to keep that in mind.”

“Do.”

“I miss them,” he told her. “I miss the boys they used to be.”


End file.
